Wednesday, February 16, 2005

The Tribe Has Spoken, Bitches

I get a kick out of people who stick their noses in the air and say, “Oh, we don’t have a television.”

I’m all, “Why?”

And they’re all, “We’d rather talk or read.”

And I’m all, “Talk? Read? Are you fucking nuts? Where’s the fun in that?”

I lump people like this into the same category as the people who will haul ass to an Omaha donut shop to see an apple fritter that looks like the Virgin Mary or the people who perpetually send me emails about not flashing your brights at cars who don’t have their lights on at night because it’s all part of a gang initiation ritual and they’ll totally pop a cap in your punk ass. Word.

This just in, folks: TV makes the world go ‘round. It’s right up there with water and oxygen and Yoohoo. And when you say you’d rather talk than watch TV, I have to guffaw because what else is there to talk about besides the way women on The Swan look like Secretariat after their teeth get capped and how the incessant tension between Simon and Paula on American Idol is because they’re schtupping and Paula won’t let him poke her in the pooper? If you’re not hip to the happenings on the boob tube, I have to assume that you just sit and stare at each other and listen to the chirp-chirp-chirp of the crickets.

My sister-in-law, Karona, is the decaffeinated version of one of these people. She freely admits to owning a television, but she claims to be too busy to indulge in the nonsensical drivel on the air. Hah! Double hah! I wonder what she’ll say after I tell the whole god-damned Internet that whenever she comes over to visit the kids, she can’t take her eyes off of Survivor or The Apprentice or The Surreal Life long enough to notice that the kids are asleep, Weak-Bladdered Dog (whom she HATES!) has eaten her curry couscous (which makes sense because the healthy, preservative-free “food” she eats tastes like Alpo to begin with) and she has a big puddle of drool at her feet because she was so enthralled with the show that she forgot to swallow.

We also know some people who are hardcore bible-thumpers. These fine folks imply that they don’t own a TV because it’s the devil’s entertainment. I have never had the gonads to challenge them on it, but I presume this also means that they don’t listen to Slayer (the devil’s music), drink Mocha Mix (the devil’s non-dairy creamer), vote Democratic (the devil’s party), root for the Yankees (the devil’s ballclub), eat Hot Tamales candy (the devil’s confection) or engage in sexual relations intended for purposes other than procreation.

Actually, that’s a pretty good analogy because you’re about as inclined to believe that people don’t watch TV as you are to believe that they only screw when it’s time to have another baby. These are the same people who read Playboy for the articles and never pick their noses and smoked pot once but didn’t inhale. In other words, BULLSHIT!

I think there’s nothing wrong with watching shitloads of TV. It’s the American way. Hot Wife is always pleading with me that we should have some “quiet time” with the kids --- that we should have the TV off between the time they get out of the bathtub and when they go to bed. I ask if by “quiet time” she means we should have the Laker game on mute. She says nothing, just gives me a look like, “You just bought yourself another date with Rosie Palms, mister.” This from the woman who is still so stuck in the tar pits of the dark ages that she won’t agree to let us have a TV in our bedroom. I know: horrifying.

Quiet time, my ass. That’s right. You heard me. Quiet time, my pimply white ass. I want the TV on. I want my kids to know that if they can’t sing the theme song to The Apprentice (“moneymoneymoneymoney…MAH-NAY…”) by the time they go to kindergarten, they’re losers in my eyes. Yes, my son can say the alphabet and count to 10 in three different languages (and no, one of them isn’t Pig Latin) and sing the National Anthems of two different countries, but if he doesn’t know that SportsCenter comes on at 8 and 11 p.m., what good is he?

I swear, if either of my kids grows up to be one of those assclowns who doesn’t believe in watching television, they can kiss their inheritance goodbye.

10 Comments:

You should see it here in SF. Even here in our supposedly "conservative" neighborhood, every third house has a "kill your tv" sign pasted in the window or on a bumper sticker on the shit-oh-I-mean-BIODIESEL-mobile parked out front. Assclowns, indeed.

That's my new favorite word, by the way. I've been working on asshat, but it's just not sticking. I don't think I quite get the meaning. Assclowns rocks. I may end up with both. Anything with ASS pretty much works for me assbro.

I guess that makes me an assclown. But the problem is that I will sit there unblinkingly (much like your sister-in-law) watching flashing images on a little black box for weeks without sleeping. I lose the ability to recognize the people around me. I could potentially murder someone for distracting me for a millisecond from some retarded show about Pamela Anderson's lameass boob job that under normal circumstances I wouldn't even consider watching. So, trust me, it's better that I don't have a TV. Better for everyone involved.

You're a big fake, and I know it. How? Hot Wife sounds like she has her head screwed on straight, and I'm *sure* she keeps your ass in line. That being said, your writing is very enjoyable. Obscene and rage-filled, but enjoyable.

In college we called our TV watching "suckling at the glass teat" and i think that pretty much sums it up - both good and bad. We have a TV in the bedroom, but it's rarely on. I mean, why watch tv when you could be having sex or sleeping?

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Here are actual questions you asked the presidential candidates when they appeared on your show. To Bush: 'Were y'all spankers?" To Kerry: "Did you ever spank the girls?" To Bush: "Did you spank them?" To Kerry: "What did she do to get spanked?" Hey, Dr. Phil, keep it in your pleated pants. [GQ Magazine, Dec. 2004, pg. 372]